


Fall at Your Feet

by blingblingis



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, F/M, M/M, Sort Of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-21
Updated: 2017-11-21
Packaged: 2019-02-05 01:44:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12784266
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blingblingis/pseuds/blingblingis
Summary: Hanzo thinks you're dead. How will the archer react to finding out you're not?





	Fall at Your Feet

**Author's Note:**

> You can find my imagines blog [here!](https://moreheroimagines.tumblr.com/)

He sees it happen. One moment you’re standing there in front of the warehouse where you’ve just taken down the night’s enemies, grinning at him, waving him over. You’re covered in sweat and bruises but you’re alive. And the next moment, in the blink of an eye, the building behind you erupts into a mass of fire and death. It happened so fast that he doesn’t even see where you land. Where your body lands. No one could have survived standing so close to an explosion like that.

Perhaps rage should have taken over. Perhaps he should have seen red and starting firing blindly at whoever was the cause of the explosion. But instead he focused his anger into cold calculation. Hunting down the man who blew up the warehouse was easy, he was sprinting away in the opposite direction, not even bothering to try and be stealthy about it. Shooting him down and maiming him was even easier, Hanzo is a master archer, his arrow always finds its mark. Which means he could have gone for a kill shot right off the bat. But he didn’t.

Killing the man who killed you will not bring you back, but it will give him some sort of sick satisfaction. As his prey begins to crawl away, whimpering and pleading for its life he eyes it critically. What manner of death will cause the most pain and suffering? He fingers the dagger at his belt and freezes. You gave him that, as a gift. He refused to use a sword again, but he needed some sort of blade for close combat so you compromised and got him a dagger. A plain thing, but his name was etched on the side in your messy and somewhat inaccurate kanji.

He has no illusions that you would be disappointed in him for torturing someone to death. Only that he tortured himself while doing it. You’ve been trying to teach him to accept things as they are and move on. He can’t do that if he’s deliberately keeping someone alive just to take pleasure in their pain. Not this man, at the least. The man’s broken whimpers drag him from his thoughts rudely and he glares at him for half a heartbeat. With a heavy sigh Hanzo steps forward, grabs the man by his hair and cleanly and quickly slits his throat. Easy? Yes. Satisfying? Only slightly, but he tells himself he’ll have to accept it and move on.

He stands over the man’s lifeless form for several long moments. Trying to ignore the burning blaze at his back. If he turns around he’ll only be consumed by hatred and rage again, thinking about you would only hurt him. So he tried not to feel. It was easier that way, it was-

“Mooooottherrrr fucker that hurt.” His head snaps up and he turns without a second thought. And there you are: now not only covered in sweat and bruises but ash, with a gash across your forehead that probably looks worse than it is. He wants to say something, wants to run to you and hold you in his arms but the shock of seeing you standing there, very much alive, has rendered him immobile. “Ahh, man, and you already killed the fucker who did it.” you sigh, gesturing vaguely to the body just behind him. Then you look up at Hanzo’s face and tilt your head in confusion. “You okay? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” You frown at him as you close the distance between you and check him over for injury. Finding none your frown deepens, unaware that you’re the ghost he’s seen.

“What- How- I saw-” No matter how many times he starts the sentence he can’t finish it. Too many words wanting to rush out all at once and he’s annoyed that none of them make sense in that order. You raise your eyebrows at him with each stuttered sentence, waiting for him to collect his thoughts and try again. He inhales deeply, trying to calm his racing heart. When he opens them again he can think and speak clearly, but he’s still overcome with emotion. “I saw the explosion, I thought you were close enough to-” he stops himself before he finishes that thought.

But you seem to get it anyway, “You thought I died?” you gasp, eyes widening in realization. He nods solemnly, fists clenching at his sides and looking away from you. He’s angry. Angry that he almost lost himself when he thought he lost you. Angry that even realizing he would break if you died seeing you in front of him now he couldn’t just act on his feelings. Angry that-- You rip him from his thoughts by throwing your arms around his neck, burying the clean side of your face into his shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t even realize you might’ve thought...I hit the deck, right before.” You say by way of explanation, pulling back and pouting as you continue. “Obviously not fast enough to avoid getting hit by debris but...” you trail off, sullenly indicating the gash on your forehead.

With you alive and in his arms he seems to come back to himself somewhat, tilting your head to inspect your wound. “It’s not bad, but it’ll need a stitch or two.” he states plainly. You click your tongue in annoyance. He knows you hate stitches because “they itch and I always forget they’re there.” The memory brings a smile to his face. And the thought that he still gets to make more memories with you, still gets to stitch your wounds, is enough for him. Easy, with you? Never. Satisfying? More than anything.

An hour later he’s cleaning and stitching your wound while you pout and try to sit still while the needle passes through your flesh. You’ve been staring at him very pensively for the past five minutes, a far cry from your squirmy fidgeting the previous times he’s stitched you up. When he’s done he starts to put away the med kit the two of you keep, “Hanzo.” you say, to get his attention. He grunts in acknowledgement, but otherwise continues cleaning up. “We should get married.” 

He stops moving immediately and turns his head to look at you, sure he misheard you. But no, you’re sitting there, staring him down, looking as serious as he’s ever seen you. And oddly, he’s not actually surprised at the question itself. Just that you were the one to ask him. He’d be lying if he said he had never considered asking you. He thinks for a moment, hands absentmindedly stowing away the med kit. When he sits back down opposite you, you are still staring at him. He tilts his head, shrugs and says “Okay.”


End file.
